


When Snow Falls

by ProdigyBlood



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley is smitten, Fluff, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, game of thrones mentions, of course there's wine, they took their damn time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-16 23:54:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19328662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProdigyBlood/pseuds/ProdigyBlood
Summary: Newton Pulsifer didn’t mean to glimpse any of the New old prophecies of Agnes Nutter. As far as he could tell, though, the one prophecy he did glimpse before the hungry fire could eat the blasted things away for good, didn’t relate to him and Anathema anyway.The prophecy that Newton Pulsifer glimpsed read as such:At which hour Snow falls, Evil will embrace Good ande bringeth change thee w’rld hath ne’er seene.Newt had been quite correct in thinking that it did not refer to either Anathema or himself. He had been wrong, however, in suspecting that it potentially referred to the end of days...





	When Snow Falls

**Author's Note:**

> I have been blocked for SO long but after watching (and then reading) Good Omens, I was inspired. It's not great, certainly not my best but I dunno, I tried XD
> 
> These ineffable husbands are just too cute, I'll probably give it another shot soon enough :)
> 
> (If you need warning that this has spoilers for season 5 episode 10 of Game of Thrones, then where have you been?)

Newton Pulsifer didn’t mean to glimpse any of the New old prophecies of Agnes Nutter. To be perfectly honest, he didn’t want anything more to do with witches or witchfinders or prophecies at all. He just wanted to live a normal, unprophetic life with his girlfriend, Anathema Device, in which he could surprise her with a nice gesture like flowers, or not shutting off the electricity of the entire town for a week. It wasn’t too much to ask, was it?

As far as he could tell, the one prophecy he _did_ glimpse before the hungry fire could eat the blasted things away for good, didn’t relate to him and Anathema anyway. That said, it sounded rather ominous and left him feeling more than a little unsettled.

If he didn’t tell anyone about the prophecy, then perhaps the world would end.[1]

At the same time, if he didn’t tell anyone, wouldn’t that mean it wasn’t his problem? It wasn’t as if they could do anything about it now, anyway, what with the fire that was quickly destroying all evidence and clues they might have used to impede the next great disaster the Earth faced. Surely it would be better for the world to stumble unknowingly to its doom rather than know to expect it but _only_ know to expect it? Newt was already feeling burdened with the possibility and he wasn’t even sure what it was he’d read. He was fairly certain it would be in everyone's best interest for him not to burden them as well.

Newt glanced at Anathema. She was watching the prophecies burn with a small smile that suggested a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She looked, for the first time since he had met her, _free_.

Newt made a decision then.

If the world was going to end, then it could bloody well do so without dragging him or his girlfriend into it.

Besides, he couldn’t be sure of the meaning of the cryptic message anyway. It could have meant anything. It could have meant _nothing._

Either way, it wasn’t his damn problem.

 

_[1] Again. But properly this time._

The prophecy that Newton Pulsifer glimpsed read as such:

_At which hour Snow falls, Evil will embrace Good ande bringeth change thee w’rld hath ne’er seene._

Newt had been quite correct in thinking that it did not refer to either Anathema or himself. He had been wrong, however, in suspecting that it potentially referred to the end of days.

In actuality, the prophecy would not come to be for some time but, when it did, much unlike the end of days, it wouldn’t really affect him much.[2]

  
_[2] That is, except for the phone calls from an excited angel and the dozens of cups of teas that he would have to make in the subsequent visits. Newt didn’t really mind making cups of tea, though. The quality of his tea often depended on how polite the tea drinker was but, by the time the prophecy came to be, he would have almost gotten the brewing time and milk to water ratio down._

 

***

 

“Oh, hurry up angel!” Crowley was already comfortable, feet up, a glass of perfectly matured wine in hand. Post end of days had been good to him. He hadn’t heard a damn thing from his side (did he really have a side anymore?) since everything had gone down years earlier. Now he got to spend his days doing whatever the hell he wanted. Which, as it happens, was usually spending rather a lot of time with a certain angel whose friendship had previously been forbidden (not that _that_ had ever stopped them).

Aziraphale, too, had been left alone. The angel didn’t seem to take to freedom from his heavenly duties quite as well as the demon, however. In the time that had followed the end of the world, Aziraphale had seemed a little lost. Although well intended, his overly ambitious desires to help those he cared for most (and sometimes just those he passed in the busy streets of London) often ended in disastrous results. After humouring the angel for a few years, Crowley had eventually deemed it necessary to step in. [3]

As such, it had been Crowley’s idea that they spend more time together. Nowadays, they went to the Ritz at least once a week [4], usually followed by copious amounts of alcohol. They also watched Game of Thrones together.

It was one of the few successful shows that Crowley didn’t have a hand in and had chosen not to interfere with, deciding that the humans were doing a rather fine job by themselves.[5] Instead, he and his angel just enjoyed the show along with the humans. It was fun not knowing what would happen and who would be horribly killed next. Aziraphale claimed that he had no stomach for the violence and nudity, but Crowley knew for a fact that the angel had a soft spot for the mother of dragons. Aziraphale was anxiously hoping that she would be the one to end up on the iron throne.

 

_[3] Actually, Adam had phoned him and asked him to ‘get your weird friend to stop checking in on me every other day.’_

_[4] Crowley, of course, never booked but – rather miraculously – there was always a last-minute cancellation. Much to the surprise of the staff, it was, without fail, the same corner table by the window which argued the best view in the house. Eventually, rumours started that the table was cursed, or, perhaps even haunted by the ghost of an unhappy customer. As such, even when Crowley and Aziraphale were not dining in, the table often remained empty due to fear of being ‘possessed by the ghost with the upset stomach’._

_[5] This was a decision he would come to regret in 2019._

“Yes, yes, I’m coming, dear.” Carrying a platter of extravagant snacks – hardly the usual sort for pigging out on the sofa in front of the tv (but then, these weren’t usual men) – Aziraphale wandered into the room and joined him.

Tonight, was the season five finale and the angel and demon had placed bets on who was going to die.

“I hope it’s Sansa,” Crowley said.

“Heavens! The poor little dear, why ever would you wish such a thing?”

Crowley shrugged and took a sip of wine. “She’s annoying.”

“You’re awful,” Aziraphale told him. He, too, sipped his wine. “I hope Ramsey finally meets a fitting end. He is rather vile. I certainly would have smote him by now.”

They watched the episode in silence, and, by the end, the pair were at the edge of their seats.

“Heavens,” Aziraphale said finally, long after the credits had ended. “I think I need some more wine.” He hastily swiped at the small tear that was threatening to fall down his face and leaned forward to pour more wine into his glass. “I didn’t imagine Jon Snow _could_ die; you know.”

“You said the same thing about Ned,” Crowley pointed out, although he, too, was stunned at how the season finale had concluded. “Are you _crying_?”

“You needn’t sound so disgusted.”

“Well, he was a bit boring, wasn’t he?”

“He was a good man,” Aziraphale said and promptly sniffed.

“Oh, there-there.” Crowley patted the angel on the back but, when the blond turned to look at him, the expression on his face was so heart wrenching that the demon couldn’t help but pull him into an awkward hug.

He didn’t even really think about it. Had he of, Crowley might have reconsidered before it was too late. They didn’t really hug, the two of them. Hugging wasn’t really something Crowley did as a rule. Hugging was for pansies.

It was surprisingly nice, though, holding Aziraphale. Even _if_ the angel had stiffened somewhat in his arms, his wine glass tilted in surprise but miraculously not spilling even a single drop.

“Uh… My dear, I’m not _that_ upset,” Aziraphale said eventually when Crowley showed no sign of releasing him.

“I know, angel.”

The problem was, now that he had Aziraphale in his arms, he didn’t really want to let him go. If he let the angel go, Aziraphale would probably scoot away from him and then question what it was that had just happened. Crowley wasn’t sure he wanted to explain to his oblivious angel. After all, when was the right time to tell someone that you had been in love with them for approximately six thousand years?[6]

Eventually, Crowley realised, he was going to have to let Aziraphale go. The angel smelt of spiced wine and musky old books[7] and while Crowley had the distinct memory of telling him once before that ‘yes, I know what _you_ smell like!’ he was still trying to burn the scent into his nostrils memories. Nostril memories, were those a thing? They were now, Crowley decided as he reluctantly pulled away from his stunned angel.

 

_[6] As it happened, according to Agnes Nutter the right time was, indeed, now._

_[7] Crowley couldn’t be sure whether the latter was due to his keen sense of smell or simply because it was Aziraphale and he couldn’t help but_ expect _Aziraphale to smell of old books._

“Well,” Aziraphale said, clearing his throat. “That was… unexpected.”

There were two ways Crowley could play this situation. He could brush it off, laugh, and pretend it had been nothing. Or he could tell Aziraphale that for someone so smart he was incredibly stupid sometimes. The demon wasn’t quite sure which option was less appealing.

“You looked like you could use a hug, is all,” Crowley said finally with a halfhearted shrug.

Aziraphale scrutinised him, a fair eyebrow raised into his hairline. “When did you become a hugger?”

“I’m not,” Crowley said, insulted. “Look, I’m a little drunk. I won’t do it again.” Aziraphale eyed his glass of wine sceptically. Both had been so enthralled in the episode that they had barely touched their second glass of wine. Then again, maybe he’d been so enthralled in the episode that he hadn’t noticed Crowley refilling his glass?

“It was quite nice,” Aziraphale said into his glass.

“What was?”

“The hug. You’re rather warm. Very bony, though. How is it you never get pudgy despite being just as glutinous as me?”

“Gluttony isn’t a sin for me.” Crowley shrugged. He wasn’t really sure where this conversation was going or, even, where he _wanted_ it to go.

“Well, that hardly seems fair.”

“When has the world ever been fair, angel?”

Aziraphale’s frown deepened. The contact between them had put a thought into his head and now he couldn’t shake it.

“They’re terms of endearment, you know.”

“What?” Was it the angel’s imagination or had Crowley stuttered and turned a faint shade of red?

“Angel. Dear. The human’s use them romantically. I saw it on the television.” He said it rather matter of factly, but his heart was hammering away in his chest.

Crowley spat his wine back into his glass.

“Are they really?” the demon said finally, in a way that made it obvious that this was not – and had not been for a very long time – news to him.

It hadn’t really been news to Aziraphale for a long time either when he thought about it.

The angel looked at the demon then. Properly looked at him, until Crowley was squirming uncomfortably under his intense gaze. Eventually, he seemed to make up his mind about something.

“Do you remember when you saved me from the Nazis?”

Crowley was properly lost now, but he nodded dutifully. He’d walked across hallowed ground because his angel had gotten himself into ‘a spot of bother’. The sensation hadn’t been pleasant but the smile Aziraphale had given him for his daring rescue had made it all worth it.

“What about it?” he asked.

“You didn’t need to save me, you know. I would have discorporated and been sent back.”

“Yeah but that’s a bit of a faff,” Crowley said brazenly because he couldn’t say what he really wanted to.[8]

“Well, it was very kind,” Aziraphale said. He cleared his throat and put down his wine, suddenly looking very serious. In response, Crowley took several deep gulps from his own glass. “What really struck me about that night, dear, and will continue to always be an important memory to me, is that you saved the books. I completely forgot about them and yet you, who doesn’t read, saved them. It was really rather lovely of you.”

  
“Uh… well, knew how important they were to you, didn’t I?”

“That’s the thing,” Aziraphale said. “You did.”

“What I said.”

“You knew how important they were to me and so you saved them. For me.”

“What’s your point, angel?” The name came out before he could stop it and he flushed. After Aziraphale’s realisation, he wasn’t sure he should so casually use the endearment for fear of spooking his angel away.

Aziraphale didn’t look spooked, though. In fact, he smiled softly.

 

_[8] What Crowley really wanted to say was that it didn’t matter whether Aziraphale had been in any real danger or not, he would still always risk his own discorporation in order to prevent the angels. It wasn’t so much that he wanted to be the angel’s hero, although that’d be a nice bonus. Being shot bloody well hurt, and he didn’t want Aziraphale to ever hurt at all if he could help it._

“Crowley,” the angel said quietly.

“Hm?” Crowley was quite interested in the dregs of his wine now. He swirled the glass so that the last drops of red jumped up the sides.

Aziraphale hesitated for a moment, tasting the words on his tongue. Dare he ask the question? One of them needed to be brave eventually, and it looked like it wasn’t going to be Crowley any time soon. “How long have you been in love with me?”

When Crowley dropped his glass there was no miracle. The small amount of wine that had been left in it spread across the floor, staining it as red as Jon’s blood in the snow. He stared at it in disbelief simply because it was better than staring at the angel who was looking at him so earnestly.

“Am I wrong?” Aziraphale asked when Crowley didn’t respond.

Oh, what the hell.

“Six,” Crowley said, trailing off as he quickly lost his nerve.

“Six what?” Aziraphale asked quite politely. “Years? Hundred?”

“Thousand.” It came out as a squeak. God, Crowley really needed some more wine.

“Oh. Oh, my dear… Why did you never say?”

“What would have been the point?” Crowley finally looked up, meeting the angels’ eyes. “You didn’t feel the same.”

“Well, not for six thousand years I didn’t,” Aziraphale agreed. That got Crowley’s attention. Was he saying what it sounded like he was saying? “It was the books, my dear. When you saved the books, I realised that I never wanted to go back to Heaven if it meant leaving you behind.”

“But…” Crowley did the maths. “That was nearly eighty years ago. Are you telling me that we could have – eighty fucking years?!”

“Well, really, Crowley. How was I meant to know you felt the same? You are a demon, for all I knew, you couldn’t feel love.”

“I asked you to run away with me!”

“Yes, well, now that I consider certain information in the light of things –”

“Eighty fucking years!” Crowley burst out again. For a moment he looked horrified, and then he burst out laughing.

“Seventy-four, actually,” Aziraphale said, but he too had cracked a smile. Before he could say anything else, Crowley was leaning forwards, taking his face between his palms, and was kissing him. Neither of them had ever kissed before but, because they imagined it would go perfectly, it did. It was soft, with just enough desperation to not be boring. Their lips moved together as if they had been designed to do just that, forever. They both tasted of wine, and heaven and just a little bit of hell, too…

“Blimey,” Crowley breathed when they finally parted for air.

“That was –” Aziraphale seemed a little speechless. His thoughts were very similar to Crowley’s at that moment. They were both wondering why they hadn’t done that sooner. Indeed, why they hadn’t been religiously doing that for the past six thousand (or at least, eighty) years.

They kissed again, fiercer this time, with enough passion to make up for at least six of those lost years. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

“Did you really love me from the beginning?” Aziraphale asked after they reluctantly parted again.

“Right from the moment I saw you holding that flaming sword,” Crowley said.

“Figures that it would be the sword for you.”

“Figures that it was the books for you,” Crowley countered. “Next time, try not to leave me waiting for so long, angel.”

“I don’t plan to make you wait ever again, dear,” Aziraphale promised.

“Talking of waiting…” Crowley glanced at the tv screen, still showing the finished episode of Game of Thrones. “How long do we have until season six?”

“Oh, about a year, I think.”

“A year? I don’t think I can wait that long.”

“A year is nothing, my dear. You waited six thousand of them for me, remember? I am rather sorry about that. Have I said that yet?”

Crowley chewed back the devilish grin that was spreading across his face. “Maybe you can make it up to me. A single year should fly by if you’re making up for six thousand, don’t you think? Besides, now that we’ve tried kissing, I think there are several other things we should give a go. Maybe we can make you less prudish in time for the next season, what do you think, angel?”

“I don’t know about that, dear, but we should certainly give it a shot.”

And they certainly did.

 

 


End file.
